Lola and the Professor's Wife

The Professor had this fit, sexy wife at home, but he wouldn't even fuck her, preferring to cheat on her with naive, exploitable college girls like me. He didn't deserve this woman, but more to the point, she deserved better than him. I seethed quietly on her behalf as she and her friends drank and laughed the night away.

In the weeks following my anonymous encounter with Marisol, she lingered on my mind. I didn't know her, and she didn't know me, but I wanted better for her. I wanted to help her get even with her cheating husband, but I knew that I would only hurt her if I revealed the truth about him.

Then, on the first Saturday night in October, Marisol came back to the club with the same three women. This time, I watched them more closely, and it became clear that these women were old friends, probably college girlfriends or something. They seemed so familiar and comfortable, the ease of a group dynamic where everyone knows their role. Professor Daniels' wife was the hottest of the four, but one of her friends was obviously the leader of the group. She was loud, gregarious, and a heavy drinker. She was also the only one of the four who stepped outside periodically to smoke cigarettes.

As I watched them, the seeds of a plan started to form in my mind. Then, on the first Saturday night in November, the girls came back to the club for a third time.

Three visits in three straight months, all on the first Saturday of the month, always the same four women. I figured that they had to have a standing monthly girls' night out on the first Saturday of the month.

This could work, I thought. When I came home that night, I flipped the calendar in my bedroom over to the month of December and circled the first Saturday in red ink. Then, a few days later, I called Grant.

Grant and I had been fuck buddies, sort of, since midway through my freshman year. I say "sort of" because the relationship wasn't quite that simple or innocent. Grant was an ex-marine several years older than I was, a quintessential alpha male who had easily identified my submissive tendencies and expertly exploited them.

We'd been introduced in a manner of speaking by my ex-boyfriend, who was an aspiring cadet in the ROTC. Really, the introduction had involved my ex blabbing to Grant about how I'd had a threesome with two guys the summer before college, a piece of information that Grant decided to pursue to its logical conclusion. It didn't take long for Grant to insert himself into our relationship, driving a thick, veiny wedge between us by double-teaming me with one of his marine corps mates.

After securing my submission that night, Grant spent the rest of my freshman year pimping me out to his big-dick friends, arranging "parties" where he and another ex-marine would spit roast me or take turns until they'd each had their fill. But Grant isn't the type of alpha who was satisfied just to fuck me. He insisted on transforming my whole appearance to his liking, bleaching my hair blonde and demanding that I wear slutty outfits designed to attract the male gaze. In deference to his alpha dominance, I had refused him nothing, even going so far as to let him tattoo the inside of my wrist, emblazoning it with the Roman numeral II in honor of my status as his "two-cock slut."

So when I came up with a plan to help Marisol get even with her husband, I knew that Grant was exactly the kind of skilled, aggressive alpha male I would need. And I figured he would be more than happy to do me this favor once he found out what it was.

...

PROFESSOR DANIELS:

I may not be a strong man, but I have known temptation and resisted it. After my son was born, I taught all manner of fun, flirty, fresh-faced college girls for nine years without even a hint of impropriety, all while Mari and I were living a mostly sexless life. There were plenty of opportunities to make passes at students, colleagues, and strangers out in the world, and I let them all pass by without a second thought.

But I am also a man, and I know my own frailties. That's why I made a habit of avoiding situations where the temptation might be too great. I was quite adept at this until Lola entered my life.

It truly felt like she had been sent by the devil to torment me. Every class, class after class, week after week, she would strut in several minutes late in some skimpy outfit, making an incredible scene that just couldn't be ignored. Then, she would sit down in the front row, right in front of me, so close I couldn't help but smell her perfume and see down her shirt.

To make matters worse, both her body and her behavior seemed to have been designed in the laboratory of my darkest fantasies. She was everything that had once turned me on about Mari—the beautiful Asian features, the golden skin, the dangerously flirty personality—while also being different in all the right ways: she was younger, taller, bleached blonde, and blessed with a pair of huge, perfect tits the likes of which I had never seen on an Asian girl.

After several weeks of this torture, I just couldn't get her out of my mind. I started Googling her name, looking for more information about her. And that was when I learned the details of her father's disgrace, how he had lost his own job as a college professor when it was revealed that he'd be sleeping with his students for years.

After discovering this, a new fantasy began to grow inside me. There was no way to know for certain, but I began to think that maybe, just maybe, she was putting on a show for me. She must have some daddy issues, I thought, and perhaps seducing a professor of her own was one way of acting them out. It began to seem plausible, but more importantly, it was what I wanted to believe.

Finally, when the temptation was too much, I decided to test this hypothesis. Mari and I sometimes hosted cookouts with my students at our house, and this would be the perfect excuse to invite Lola over. When she agreed to come, it felt like a sign that her fantasy might be the same as mine.

I found further evidence to support my theory in the outfit she wore that night. Most college girls, even the flirty ones, might be expected to dial it back a notch when attending a party hosted by a professor and his wife. Lola, of course, went in the opposite direction. I had to stop my mouth from falling open when I saw her walk onto my patio in a tiny string bikini top, a crop top jean jacket, and a sheer sarong that left her bikini thong beautifully on display.

I waited all night, watching her movements, stalking her with my eyes. Finally, when I saw her go inside by herself, I seized my opportunity.

To be honest, I really didn't know what I was going to do, because a fantasy is not the same thing as a plan. After she went into our bathroom, I waited outside the door, my mind churning through every possibility. What if I was wrong? If I had misread the situation and made a pass at her, I could destroy my marriage and my career with a single act.

But what if I was right? What if this was the moment we'd both been waiting for? She'd come here, dressed for attention, and now we were all alone in my house. After all of those days flaunting her body shamelessly in front of me, she had delivered herself to me like a present that was waiting to be unwrapped. If she wanted the same thing as I did, then she'd done everything she could do to make her intentions known. She'd brought herself to me, but she couldn't be expected to make the first move. That, I thought, was up to me.

As she walked out of the bathroom, I thought to offer her one last test. I would invite her into my study with nothing but a flimsy pretext. If she refused, or made an excuse, I would know that I had misread the situation and escort her back outside. But if she agreed... if she walked with me alone into my inner sanctum...

Even after she agreed to follow me in, I knew it was still a risk. But after nine long, practically sexless years... after so many weeks of temptation, frustration, and torment... after all of my tests... I had to take the chance.

And then, moments later, I was on top of her, muffling her screams, and there was no turning back.

...

LOLA:

On the first Friday in December, I walked up the steps to Professor Daniels' office with a different agenda than usual.

As expected, Grant was more than happy to play his part in my plan. He'd talked to his friends and rounded up a few of them, all of whom were going to be on call for the following night. He'd also procured the ecstasy I'd asked him to get, acting on a little hunch I had after watching these women for three straight months.

The board was set. Now, the question was whether I could play the pieces as well in reality as I could in my head.

As I entered his office, Professor Daniels instinctively straightened his posture, sliding his chair under the desk as I closed the door behind me. Immediately, his hands disappeared, so eager was he to begin stroking himself at the mere sight of me walking through his door.

"Put your hands on the desk, Professor," I commanded. "I'm not here to collect my tribute and I don't plan on staying long."

Confused and disappointed, he placed his hands back on his desk, looking at me with a mix of curiosity and concern.

"I've been thinking that these last few months, I keep coming to your office, during your office hours, to collect my tribute around your schedule." I made a slightly pouty face. "That doesn't seem fair, does it? Why should I be the one who always caters to your availability."

"What did you have in mind?" he asked cautiously.

"I work at a club downtown on Saturday nights. I want you to come to the club tomorrow night and pay your tribute there."

He paused, seeming to consider my request.

"Tomorrow night," he shook his head. "I can't."

"You can't?" I asked incredulously. "Really?"

"My wife will be out with her friends tomorrow. It's my night to stay home with the kids."

I felt a surge of adrenaline. This was the confirmation that I needed. The four women would be at the club tomorrow as expected.

"Professor," I chided. "Have you forgotten the rules of our... arrangement?"

"I want to go, Lola, but I can't just leave my kids home alone."

"Might I suggest a babysitter?" As I said this, I slipped the straps of my tank top and bra off my shoulders. The Professor gulped.

"It's... it's such short notice..." he mumbled.

I took a step towards him.

"These... are the carrot," I whispered, slowly pulling down my tank top and the cups of my bra. His mouth gaped opened as my huge tits spilled out in front of him. "Don't make me use the stick."

That did the trick. The Professor stopped protesting and nodded his head.

"So you'll come, then?" I put my palms on the desk and leaned forward, my tits thrust proudly towards his lust-filled face. "Tomorrow night?"

"Yes—yes, I'll be there."

"Good," I smiled, snapping back into a standing position and pulling my top back up. "I'll text you with the details."

As I opened the door to leave, I turned back to him.

"Don't disappoint me, Professor."

...

I'd never been more excited for work in my entire life.

I showed up 30 minutes before my shift began and walked through the club once more, looking at it with fresh eyes as I went over the plan in my head. I checked myself in the mirror and liked what I saw: the club mandated that I had to wear a black dress to work, and I'd chosen a strapless, form-fitting number that hugged my curves deliciously. My lipstick was a bold, inviting shade of red, and my smokey eye makeup was expertly applied, giving my natural Asian features a seductive, smoldering quality.

As I waited for my shift to begin, I texted Grant to confirm that he and his friends were in position and ready for my signal. Then, I texted Professor Daniels, telling him to go to a bar around the corner from the club and await further instructions. It was critical that he be close by when the plan started to unfold, because I had a feeling that once the train left the station things would happen fast.

My shift started normally enough, and I took my place at the hostess stand as usual, but inside my mind and my heart were racing. Every time a car pulled up outside or a group of girls walked in, I would hold my breath, waiting to see if it was Marisol and her friends. An hour rolled by anxiously, but because the Professor had confirmed that his wife would be out with her friends that night, I wasn't worried. I just had to be patient.

Finally, just before 11PM, the four Asian women walked into the club. I took a deep breath, steadying my heart and trying to conceal my excitement. I welcomed them in and walked them to a table, conscious to make each action seem ordinary and unremarkable. Then, once they'd been seated, I hurried back to the hostess stand. Covertly, I turned the stand just slightly, not enough to attract attention from the manager but enough to give me a clear view of the table where I'd deliberately seated the four women. Then, as subtly as possible, I fixed my gaze on the Professor's wife.

She looked sexy that night, even more so than usual. She was wearing a tight, midriff-bearing backless top that was held in place by a series of criss-crossing strings. With her smallish, still perky tits, there was no need for bra. Around her neck was a tiny choker necklace with a small pendant that rested delicately between her collarbones. Around her hips was a short, loose skirt made of shiny fabric that skewed her ensemble several years younger without seeming immature. Her sultry makeup accented her golden Filipino skin exquisitely, and her silky dark brown hair was styled into a trendy long bob that framed her beautiful, unlined face. Against her tanned skin, the whiteness of her smile seemed to shine under the lights of the club. Grant would owe me for this one.

I pulled my phone out from the hostess stand and sent Grant a text: "They're here"

"Be there in 20," he wrote back.

Then, I texted Professor Daniels: "R u at the bar?"

"Yes," he wrote back immediately.

"Stay there til I say"

"Okay"

Now, it was time to wait again, twenty interminable minutes until Grant and his friends would arrive. As I waited, I watched the four women, chatting and laughing and drinking like this was any other girls' night out. How little did they know... I practically licked my lips in anticipation.

And then, at long last, Grant and his friends walked into the club.

I had to admit, he cleaned up well. I'd only ever seen Grant at his apartment, where he and his mates had double-teamed me so many times during my freshman year. On his home turf, Grant dressed comfortably, often wearing old jeans with a ratty white t-shirt that showed off his sculpted, ex-marine upper body. With me, there had been no need to dress it up, because I was there for one reason only and we both knew it. But now, he was out on the prowl, and he had stepped up his game.

Grant was clean-shaven, his chiseled jaw smooth and inviting to the touch. He'd run some product through his dark hair, so it was tamer than usual, with a clean part along the left-hand side. He was wearing dark jeans with a tight collared shirt that had several buttons open at the chest. The sleeves were rolled up, so even in the low light of the club, you could see the tattoos that wrapped around the thick, knotted muscles of his forearms. As he approached the hostess stand, I could smell that he was wearing just a touch of cologne. Grant was in his mid-20s, but he was so well-built and put together that you could mistake him for a man in his early-30s.

As Grant approached the hostess stand, I glanced over at the three friends he'd brought with him. I didn't recognize any of them, but I could see that their eyes were all over me and they were whispering to each other. I wondered what Grant had told them about me, or what he promised them in order to get them here.

"Lola," he said, grinning as he looked me up and down. "You certainly look the part."

I tried not blush and willed myself to focus on the plan.

"Save it for the target," I said, borrowing the marine corps lingo I'd heard him use.

"So where is she?" he said, surveying the club.

"See the four Asian women in the corner over there?" I said, gesturing with my head.

"Not bad," he said, nodding approvingly. "Which one is mine?"

"Long bob haircut, choker, shiny skirt."

"The hot one," he smiled. "Very nice. And which one is the leader?"

"The one gesturing with her hands. Highlights, big talker... she'll get up for a cigarette. That's your way in."

"Okay," he smirked. "Target acquired."

"Remember," I said, "to use the emergency exit, by the bathrooms. The alarm doesn't work."

"And you remember," he said, leaning over the hostess stand, "that after this, you're back in the saddle next weekend."

"You said that, not me," I said, stepping out from behind the hostess stand. "But if tonight goes well, then I'll think about it."

I led the four men over to a table I'd left empty next to the four Asian women. Then, I returned to the hostess stand, being sure to keep one eye on the two tables.

The men ordered a round of drinks and began to talk amongst themselves, but I could see that they were starting to size up the Asian women at the next table. The women, for their part, seemed to take no notice of the men, but I knew that was just an act. A girl can tell when a guy is checking her out, and when there are four guys and four girls, no amount of subtlety will go unnoticed. Besides, when the four guys in question are big, loud, muscular ex-marines, no woman could ignore that.

Before long, the woman I'd picked out as the leader got up to get a cigarette, and I saw Grant tap one of his buddies on the shoulder. On this cue, he got up as well, striking up a conversation with the woman as they both walked past the hostess stand and out into the evening air. A few minutes later, when they re-entered the club, they were both laughing, and the guy had his hand on her lower back.

When the two of them returned to the tables, I watched as a brief conversation ensued, the woman introducing her girlfriends to her handsome new friend. After a short back-and-forth, my heart began to race as I saw Grant and his buddies get up from their table and join the four women at theirs. Without missing a beat, Grant sat himself down beside Marisol and struck up a conversation.

At this point, it became very hard to concentrate on the people entering the club, because my entire attention was fixated on Grant and the Professor's wife. Although they were just talking, there was already a voyeuristic thrill in watching Grant work and knowing exactly what his intentions were.

So many times before, I had been the target of a careful, well-planned seduction. I recalled how, as a high school senior, my tennis coach's older son Cam had schemed to get me alone on a college recruiting trip and taken my virginity. I remembered how Magnus, my married boss at an old summer job, had manipulated me for weeks with half-truths and deceptions, preying on my trust and naivety until he could coerce me into becoming his 18-year-old Asian fuck-toy. I thought of Grant himself, and how he had played my ex-boyfriend against me, driving us apart and reeling me into a cycle of exploitation and degradation as a share-slut for him and his friends. Lastly, I thought of Professor Daniels, and how he had lured me into his home and taken me against my wishes with his wife and children waiting outside.

Finally, tonight, I was the one with the plan. Grant may have used my body many times over, but now I was the one using him to corrupt the Professor's wife. It was exhilarating to be the one taking aim for once rather than the one in between the crosshairs.